


who lives, who dies, who tells your story

by thebluebirdsfeather



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF, mcyt
Genre: Angst, Hamilton Nerds, Hurt No Comfort, here's some angst though, i wrote this literally an hour before he was revived
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-21 12:00:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30021459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebluebirdsfeather/pseuds/thebluebirdsfeather
Summary: let me tell you what i wish i'd known,when i was young and dreamed of gloryortommy's dying and he knows it
Relationships: Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, TommyInnit & Dream, Tommyinnit & Philza, Tommyinnit & Tubbo
Comments: 4
Kudos: 59





	who lives, who dies, who tells your story

He was sixteen and he was _dying_.

In all honesty, this wasn’t how he expected it to go. He was surprised he even made it through all the wars, the battles, and the close calls without losing all three of his lives.

But no, he was being beaten to a pulp by ~~his abuser~~ ~~his friend~~ Dream.

He could feel himself slipping with every punch that hit his face.

(He tried to push away the thought of how he tried to make a run for the lava when it started, because _anything_ was better than letting Dream have the satisfaction in taking his final life, in finishing the collection of all three of them. _)_

He was starting to feel numb at this point, the pain of each punch and kick making the pain blend together and grow to such a peak that it felt like almost nothing at all. As twisted as it sounds, this part, the part in-between being alive and almost being gone, made Tommy feel something almost like peace. It could have possibly been nice if Dream wasn’t laughing so so loudly.

_But when you’re gone, who remembers your name?_

Many times Tommy had wondered, _would_ he be remembered? Part of him told him no, because if no one could remember him while he was in exile, he sure didn’t think anyone would if he was dead. But a part of him thought, yes. Yes, he would be remembered. Maybe not for the best things, but he was sure he had made enough of an impact on the server to where something _, anything,_ could be remembered of him.

_Who keeps your flame?_

He hopes Tubbo remembers him. They never had gotten the time to talk things through and explain themselves. Tubbo never would get to tell him about what he missed out during exile, or what he missed out during his prison stay. And he wouldn’t get to tell Tubbo about his time in exile. The nights he stayed awake staring at the stars and hoping Tubbo was staring at them and thinking of him too. But even if he never got to explain himself and apologizes a thousand times over, even if once is enough since it's coming from Tommy, he hopes that he’ll remember him as his best friend, because that’s how he remembers Tubbo in these final moments.

He hopes Sam Nook remembers him. Because even if they had only know each other for a short time and it may sound silly, he had been more of a father to Tommy than Phil, _anyone_ , had ever been. Seeing Sam Nook and being able to work on his hotel made him happier than he had been in a long, long time. It felt like someone finally cared, with no strings attached, even the hotel.

And deep down somewhere inside, he hopes Phil and Techno remember him. Because even if it’s for something small, it means they cared about him at least a _little_ bit, even though they failed to show it to him while he was around.

_And when my time is up, have I done enough?_

Yes, he had burned down homes. Yes, he had started wars. Yes, he had stolen and been selfish time and time again. But he had also started a nation. He and _Wilbur_ had started a nation. They had transformed a drug business disguised as a hot dog caravan into a nation which stood for many things, even if those things got morphed quite quickly into something they shouldn’t have ever been. He gave up his goals and lives and energy over and over again for this nation. He gave up his _childhood_ for that nation.

He had fought in so many wars and fights and came out the other end. He made it through being exiled by his best friend, his Tubbo. He _barely_ survived hell in exile with Dream and his own thoughts. (Those thoughts were still there, gnawing and growling in his mind, but he hoped that if he didn’t say anything, maybe they’d disappear.) He started a hotel to help those who lost their homes in the destruction of L’Manburg, his country, Wilbur’s unfinished symphony.

He’ll never get to see its grand opening, he realizes after the fifteenth punch. He realizes a lot after the fifteenth punch and all the others that follow it.

He’ll never get to grow up. He’ll never get to live and learn, make mistakes and fix them. He supposes he’s done a lot of that through the events of his life, but he wants to do _more_. He wants to see the world. He wants to make a little home for him and Tubbo to run away to when the memories get too much and the world feels a little too heavy.

He’ll never get to see Tubbo again. He’ll never get to sit on the bench with him and listen to the discs. Those stupid discs that nearly cost Tubbo his life. Those stupid discs, that meant so much to him because of the memories behind them. Those stupid discs, that he spent so much time running after, instead of making more memories with the people he loved.

He’ll never get to start a family and show his kids what a _real_ father is. He’ll never get to tell them the stories of him and their uncles, Wilbur and Tubbo. He’ll never get to tell them how lucky they are to be alive right now.

_Oh, I can’t wait to see you again. It’s only a matter of time._

He felt nothing anymore. The punches and kicks and the blood running down his body were gone. He heard nothing. Dream’s maniacal laugh faded into nothing, along with the sound of lava flowing outside the cell. All he saw was the whiteness and all he felt was how it was pulling him.

And if he looked closely enough, he could see Wilbur standing in the middle, his arms wide open and an easy smile on his face, one long forgotten since the Pogtopia days and his spiral to madness.

_“Welcome home, Tommy.”_


End file.
